


Plenty to be Thankful For?

by TheGreatSporkWielder



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Darcy is sad, Gen, Prompt Fic, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatSporkWielder/pseuds/TheGreatSporkWielder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanksgiving is here, but Darcy just can't bring himself to enjoy the holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plenty to be Thankful For?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm avoiding homework. Again. (Which is totally a BAD IDEA because I actually have a lot due this week, but WHATEVER.)
> 
>  **canihaspie** over on tumblr wanted Thanksgiving angsty!Darcy fic, and this is what I wrote. Not quite what they requested. Sorry.

William Darcy knew that his sister Georgiana prided herself on having great taste in music, but he also knew that she had a secret weakness for holiday albums. It didn’t matter who sung it or that many times the singer’s voice had been Autotuned until you could hardly tell that a real person had ever been involved in the first place, as soon as Thanksgiving rolled around, Gigi would buy every holiday album she could get her hands on, from Tchaikovsky to the Chipmunks. 

 

Normally, Darcy found it endearing that his accomplished and intelligent sister would spend the holiday season skipping through the house singing annoyingly chipper songs about snow and Santa and the baby Jesus as opposed to the usual angst and existentialism, but this year, the overt cheerfulness of the songs she was singing was too much for him to take. He sighed heavily as Gigi, singing loudly and deliberately off-key, came dancing into his study.

 

 “Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go!”

 

“Really, Gigi?” Darcy asked, not looking up from his computer. “That’s your song for today?”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gigi roll her eyes at him. “Well, it’s not like there’s a whole lot of Thanksgiving songs to choose from, you know,” she replied cheekily. “I have to go with what’s available.” She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek.

 

“Hm,” he replied, looking up and raising an eyebrow at her. “Unfortunately for you, we do not have a grandmother’s house to go to, nor are we traveling through forests or rivers today, so your song is irrelevant.”

 

“So is every song about Santa, but that never stops me from singing about how he’s on his way or how I want a hippopotamus for Christmas.”

 

She gave him a searching gaze and he tried not to squirm. He was nearly ten years older than she was, but there were times when he saw glimpses of their mother in his sister, and at those times, Gigi seemed much older than her nineteen years.

 

“What’s _really_ bothering you, Will?” she asked, perching on the arm of his chair. “It’s not my singing.”

 

He hesitated. Normally, he and Gigi shared just about everything, but he hadn’t told her about his humiliating rejection at the hands of Elizabeth Bennet. Gigi knew _of_ Lizzie, of course; he and Gigi had talked about Lizzie quite a few times during Lizzie’s stay at Netherfield (the speakers had been Gigi’s idea, but, naturally, that had gone over as well as any of his _other_ attempts to talk to Lizzie), but he hadn’t told Gigi just how deep his feelings for Lizzie ran, that he’d made said feelings known to Lizzie, or anything about Lizzie’s videos.  

 

He knew he would eventually have to tell Gigi that he’d told Lizzie the whole story about George, but that would involve telling his sister _why_ he’d had to tell Lizzie, and he wasn’t quite ready to do that just yet.

 

The corner of Gigi’s mouth turned up. “Is it that Lizzie girl?” she asked, as though reading his mind. “Wow, you really _do_ like her, don’t you?”

 

 _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ Darcy thought ruefully as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “I love her.”

 

Gigi beamed at him. “Will, that’s great!” she exclaimed, leaning in and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He tilted his head into her embrace and reached up to pat her hand. “That’s something to be thankful for,” she said warmly.

 

“If only _she_ agreed with you,” he replied, and a bit more of his hurt and bitterness must have seeped into his voice than he’d intended, because Gigi leaned back and narrowed her eyes at him.

 

“Just what did she _say_ to you?” she asked. "I'm guessing it wasn't an easy let-down.”

 

Darcy shook his head. “No, it most certainly was not,” he said. “Though, in retrospect, I may not have presented my feelings in an entirely fitting manner, either.”

 

“What, did you tell her that she smokes and drinks too much and doesn’t have a brain-to-mouth filter and that her mom is an embarrassment to them all?”  Gigi teased.

 

“She doesn’t smoke at all, she drinks in moderation, and her younger sister is the one with the propriety issues.”

 

“But you _did_ insult her mother.”

 

“I may have also mentioned her less-than-ideal financial situation.”

 

Gigi sighed heavily and pressed her cheek to the top of his head. “I’m sorry, Will.”

 

He squeezed her wrist. “She _hates_ me,” he said, and he once again let a little too much emotion creep into his voice because Gigi just hugged him tighter.

 

“That can’t be true,” she said soothingly. “Who could hate _you?_ You’re great.”

 

He smiled slightly and pressed her hand again. “And you’re biased,” he said. “But, yes, she does. She told me I was the last man in the world she could ever fall in love with.”

 

Gigi tightened her arms around him again, and he set his computer aside and pulled her into his lap, despite her protests that she was far too old to be cuddling on her brother’s lap like a little kid. “I’m thankful for you,” he said, giving her one of his rare smiles. “At least I know you love me.”

 

“And I always will, you big doofus.”

 

“I love you, too, you know.”

 

Gigi smiled and kissed his cheek. “I know. Now come on,” she said, hopping off his lap and grabbing his hand, “Let's go eat. I’m pretty sure the food is ready and I’m _starving.”_

Darcy let her lead him to the dining room, but as the two of them sat together at the end of the long empty table and ate pumpkin risotto and sautéed parsnips in companionable silence, he couldn’t help but imagine Lizzie, laughing and surrounded by her ridiculous family in their tiny crowded home as she ate turkey and green bean casserole, and wish he could be there to see it. 


End file.
